


hallowed were the ghosts of your desires

by lilithiumwords



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Dark, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 15:00:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithiumwords/pseuds/lilithiumwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The invitation hangs between them, hidden in words of admiration, and he wonders if he has gone too far. Thorin likely does not even care for his gender, let alone his race, and they have been unable to get along from the beginning.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	hallowed were the ghosts of your desires

When Thorin disappears from the Master's table, most of the Company notices, but those who do leave it be. Dwalin eyes the stairs with a scowl, but even he remains seated, his expression melting into a grin as another tankard of ale is set in front of him. The party continues, the wine and ale flowing as streams into the hungry guts of Dwarves who go to their doom on the morrow.

Save for one Hobbit, who steals away as quietly as Thorin did, climbing the stairs and twisting around corners until he finds the solemn figure of their leader standing at a window. The ruby cloak stands out on Thorin's proud shoulders, but Bilbo notices how they have sunk with heavy thought, how the stiff brow that has glared at him this entire journey now furrows with dark thoughts. He sees longing, regret, worry, despair, all gathered on that brow -- and when he meets Thorin, he realizes that he is already reaching up to smooth those doubts away.

But he does not let himself touch Thorin's face. Instead his fingers find the pin on Thorin's cape, straightening it and smoothing the thick velvet over the armor the Master gifted the Company. Poorly fit and heavy with the hopes of too many desperate gazes -- he wonders if the Dwarves will even keep the armor on; they seem to do well enough without it.

"You have that look on your face again," he murmurs, and he looks up to find Thorin's dark eyes fixed on him, sapphire blue blazing in the shadows.

"What look do you mean, Master Baggins?" Thorin says, his low voice sliding over Bilbo's ears. He hears a struggle to keep composure, the anger that has stung Thorin's words since the day they met, the righteous hunger for a kingdom stolen. He follows Thorin's line of sight to the mountain in the distance, a lonely peak in white, outlined against a sky that once burned with fire.

Bilbo wonders if Bard's words will ring true. He has slept so little these past few weeks -- and when he did, he dreamt of fire and stone, of gold that flowed in chambers so dark even his Hobbit eyes could not see. He dreamt of massive wings beating in the night sky.

He wonders what Thorin dreams.

"Ghosts," is all he says in reply, and Thorin scowls at him, but Bilbo can see that the expression is half-hearted. He knows the levels of emotion in Thorin's actions now; he knows the defenses Thorin uses against the others. Thorin has used them on _him_ from the beginning; and what lay hidden behind those dark looks drew Bilbo like a moth to flame.

He just hopes that he does not get burned; but he fears it is too late for that.

"This place carries old memories for me," Thorin says to him, looking back at the mountain that taunts them all. "I knew Esgaroth when it was a bustling port of merchants and goods. This town is a poor imitation of what that city used to be. I will be glad to be gone from it."

Bilbo simply hums in reply, his gaze dropping to the armor Thorin wore like a king. Fitting, to be sure. "You look better in blue," he says after a moment, breaking the sullen silence between them. He feels Thorin's gaze on him again but does not look up, instead fiddling with the bone pins that hold the cape in place. 

None of them have taken off their armor; from Thorin's quiet command that reminded them of Rivendell and their hurried escape in the night. They will enjoy the Master's feast, to be sure; they will drink his ale and stuff themselves at his table, but they will hold their weapons close and be ready to take the boat the Master has gifted them -- to flee to the mountain that haunts their dreams. 

"Matches your eyes better, but something can be said of red." He wants to take back the words when he realizes how forward they are; but he cannot. The invitation hangs between them, hidden in words of admiration, and he wonders if he has gone too far. Thorin likely does not even care for his gender, let alone his race, and they have been unable to get along from the beginning --

"I need not your expertise on tailoring, Master Hobbit, but your skill in burglaring," Thorin retorts, and Bilbo jerks back, stung.

"Can you not take a compliment gracefully when it is given, Master Dwarf?" he replies, mocking Thorin's words even as his heart sinks. He lets go of the pin and steps back to leave. Had they not grown to trust each other yet? Was it too much to ask for Thorin to accept his offer of friendship, even if he did not want more? But no, each time he sought Thorin out, to know him more, Thorin rejected him.

He could take a hint when it was thrown in his face.

"I will leave you to your brooding then," Bilbo huffs, turning away, but a heavy hand catches his elbow.

"Wait," Thorin says, and Bilbo turns without wanting to, fixing the Dwarf with a frown. "I meant... I did not mean insult, Master Baggins. It has been a long day." Bilbo reads the apology in Thorin's brow, stunted and clumsy as it is, but he is tired of seeking company where he is not wanted.

"As you said, it has been a long day. So I will retire, and I wish you a good night, Thorin," Bilbo says, and if his voice catches on Thorin's name, he dares not think about it. He tugs at his arm, but Thorin does not let him go, and Bilbo looks up mulishly, only to falter at the look in Thorin's eyes.

 _Desire and despair,_ he thinks, and he remains mute as Thorin takes a deep breath.

"You offer something I cannot rightfully take," Thorin whispers, and if his voice is thick with emotion, Bilbo dares not study it, dares not move beneath those blue, blue eyes fixed on his face. "I cannot -- we go to Erebor on the morrow, and every thought in my mind is consumed by that mountain. If... it were another time, another place, perhaps... I would take what you offer, and gladly. But not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not until my kingdom is in my grasp, and only then. I cannot risk this quest for --"

\-- but what Thorin cannot risk his homeland and kingdom for, Bilbo does not want to know, because he has had enough. "Then good night, Thorin, and if you do sleep tonight, then know I will do my best to assist your quest. That is all I offer, and nothing more," he smiles, bright and false, and takes a large step back. This time, Thorin's fingers fall from his arm, and that brow has gathered regret again, but Bilbo does not look into Thorin's eyes. He does not look at Thorin at all. "Good night."

Then he walks away, and if he walks a little fast, knowing that Thorin's heavy gaze rests on his back, he does not think his escape is too shameful. His heart is not broken. It was only an offer, a small invitation to company, nothing more.

He leaves Thorin to his ghosts and memories, leaves a king to mourn a kingdom lost, leaves his heart hidden in the back of his mind, where no regrets or desires can grasp it too tight.

~

"I will not risk this quest for the life of one burglar."

But Thorin's voice catches on _burglar_ and he thinks of dark eyes looking askance at him, hopeful and hesitant and so very trusting. He thinks of how the Hobbit has looked up to him since the beginning, of what the Hobbit has offered silently and without regret, how he has _wanted_ but has been unable to accept, for fear of the grief he would feel when the Hobbit died.

"Bilbo," Balin refutes him, intruding into Thorin's wild thoughts. "His name is _Bilbo_."

 _Bilbo_ , who has remained at his side despite Thorin's determination to push him away, who has gone into a dragon's den with only a small sword and a brave heart, whom he has, from the beginning, looked upon as if a skull rested over that small face -- whom he is _abandoning even now_ \--

He has already turned to run into the mountain when he hears a horrible roar, and his heart fears for Bilbo. But then he reaches a landing that looks over his grandfather's chambers, and --

 _Gold._ As far as his eyes can see, in the halls that belonged to _him_ , and he cannot breathe, he cannot think, he sees only the wealth and gold that _belongs to him_ \-- 

Then he hears the quick pattering of feet desperate to escape death, and he turns to see Bilbo alive.

"You're alive," -- but there is no glowing jewel in Bilbo's hand. There is no sign of his right to rule at all. He looks into the face of a skull, lifting his sword without thinking -- as darkness gathers in his mind, madness clawing at his thoughts to tear them down. There is only one thought now, only one thing that is important to him.

_"The Arkenstone."_


End file.
